Dog Poop and Other Life Lessons

Lulu was having an absolutely awful day. Nothing was going right. Just like yesterday. Just like last week. She tore through life like a tornado, leaving chaos in her wake. A hopeless jinx! Everything she touched crumbled to dust. She couldn’t make it through a single workday without ripping her tights. It always started raining the second she stepped outside. And if she dared to wear a dress, you could bet some idiot in a sports car would come speeding past, drenching her in a tidal wave from the nearest puddle.

And her love life? Now, that was a full-blown disaster. She couldn't hold on to a man to save her life. At least, that’s what her last relationship had proved. And the one before that. And the one before that.

Damn it!

She kicked at a few pebbles on the sidewalk, scowling, shaking her head. Take today, for example—her colleague had taken all the credit for the research Lulu had been working on for months. Months! Yet, in the end, everyone praised Samantha. Pff. Even her name sounded pretentious. She would be the one presenting in front of their big new client, while Lulu’s contribution went completely unmentioned. She was fed up. With everyone. With everything. Completely and utterly fed up.

She cursed under her breath as she stepped straight into a pile of dog poop near the park she cut through on her way home. Of course. Today of all days, she was wearing heels. She had actually dressed up for her meeting with the senior management. She had even ironed her damn shirt! And for what? To watch everyone fawn over Samantha.

That stupid dog shit! It was like the perfect metaphor for her life. No matter what she did, no matter how many times she changed direction, she always ended up right in the middle of it. A steaming, stinking pile of failure.

Her eyes burned with frustration, helplessness, and anger.

“Hey, girl,” a voice called out. It was old and frail, yet oddly full of energy. “Come help me out.”

What now?! Lulu turned sharply and saw an old woman standing a few feet away. Had she just appeared out of nowhere?

“Are you talking to me?” she snapped. Who did this woman think she was, addressing her so bluntly on the street? And right when Lulu was lost in the depths of her misery.

“Who else? Do you see anyone else around? Now, move those legs and come help an old lady in need.”

Lulu raised an eyebrow. Old lady? Sure, the woman looked aged, but “in need” was the last phrase she’d use to describe her.

With an exasperated sigh, she trudged over and began picking up the apples that had spilled onto the ground. Her reluctance showed in every sluggish, careless movement.

“Ugh, you stink! Did you crawl out of a dumpster?” the woman muttered.

Lulu’s head shot up, eyes wide. “Excuse me?! If you must know, I stepped in dog poop. What’s your excuse?” She glared at her.

“Well, aren’t you a feisty one! You must have slept through your etiquette lessons as a child.”

“What do you know about my childhood!?” Lulu snapped. She straightened up. “You can pick up the rest yourself.”

She turned to leave, but the old woman’s next words stopped her in her tracks. A chill ran through her body.

"Why do you always step in dog poo, Louise?"

Lulu froze. Her breath caught in her throat. No one had called her that in years.

“So?” The woman met her gaze, unflinching. It wasn’t just that she was looking at Lulu—she was seeing her.

“Because that’s all I ever do,” Lulu muttered. “Everything goes wrong. Nothing ever works out. Life, God, the universe—whatever the hell is out there—it hates me! It hates me and won’t let me succeed!” Jesus, she just couldn't stop her blabbing.

“What color is the dog poop, Louise?”

Lulu blinked. “You’re completely insane.” Why on Earth was she even standing here, having this absurd conversation?

“Don’t play dumb. Tell me—what color is it?” The woman’s voice cut through the space between them like a slap.

“I… I don’t know,” Lulu whispered.

“And the apples? What color are the apples?” The woman nodded toward the fruit at their feet.

“They… they’re black.”

“Black, you say. Have you ever heard of black apples?”

Lulu hesitated.

“Look at me,” the woman urged. “Lift that proud little chin of yours and tell me one color you see on me.”

Lulu stared blankly at the woman. The frayed skirt, the worn-out jacket, the clunky rubber boots. Her wardrobe definitely needed a refresh. That, she could say with certainty. But colors? She saw none.

“Listen, child. You can’t go through life like this. The world isn’t black and white. Life doesn’t hate you—you’re just not seeing the full picture. You’re missing all the beauty, all the light shining around you. You’re too busy staring at the ground, feeling sorry for yourself. Life hates you? Ha! Did you even notice the bright yellow tulip right next to the poop you stepped in? The very thing you won’t stop complaining about?”

Lulu turned hesitantly and looked back at the ground. But she saw… nothing. Everything was the same dull gray. Different shades of black and white.

Her eyes flicked back to the woman. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Had she really been so blind to everything?

Did other people see the world differently?

And if they did, how long had she been missing it?

“My name is Magdalena,” the woman said. “Or Magda, if you prefer it short.”

There was something in that smile. Something in the way she stood, unwavering, as if time itself had tried to wear her down but never quite succeeded. The deep lines on her face were not signs of frailty, but of a life fiercely lived. She carried light within her—an energy so strong it felt as though she could set the whole world aglow.

Or perhaps… bring colors back into Lulu’s life.

And that’s exactly what she did.

Little by little. Step by step.

It started with a whisper of yellow—the flicker of hope that painted the lonely tulip next to the dog poop.

Thus began the story of Lulu and Magdalena. Or Magda, as she called her. And it continued for many, many years.

At first, they saw each other almost every day. Then, all of a sudden, Magda showed up with a tiny, scruffy dog.

“My legs aren’t what they used to be. Will you walk her for me?” she asked, as if it were the most natural request in the world.

Lulu didn’t question it. By then, she had already accepted Magda’s peculiar ways.

The walks didn’t go well at first. In just two weeks, she had gotten into countless arguments.

“They’re all idiots! Every last one of them!” she would fume to Magda, her eyes blazing.

Until one day, Magda asked, “Why are you so angry, Louise?”

The reasons were endless. The Bald Man let his dog run loose, barking at poor little Pippi. Yes, Pippi. That’s what Magda had named the dog. Lulu refused to comment on the ridiculous name. The Red-Lipped Diva had kicked the dog—claimed she hadn’t seen her. Yeah, right. And the Tall Prick—

“Yes, yes, I get it. But what’s the common thread?”

“That they’re rude and stupid, obviously!”

“And the dog?”

“What about the dog?” Lulu frowned. She glanced down at the tiny furball curled up by her feet, radiating warmth. “They scare her. They treat her unfairly. And she’s so sweet, so innocent. She doesn’t deserve it. No one has the right to stress out my dog!”

The moment the words left her lips, she froze.

“Well, well,” Magda said with a smirk. “Your dog, huh? Are you telling me you actually care about Pippi?”

Lulu stared into Pippi’s big brown eyes. And something inside her shifted.

That’s how love was born.

And it painted her life in deep, burning red.

The years passed, and Lulu no longer walked through a world of grays.

She painted her existence with color.

Purple—the bold defiance of change, the exhilaration of breaking free from a job that smothered her, of stepping into the unknown and finding passion waiting for her there. Pink—the delicate blush of new love, unfolding slowly, the moment she finally saw the charming man she had passed by for years and realized he had been waiting for her to look up. Blue—deep and steady, the quiet hum of kindness, when for the first time in forever, she stepped aside and let someone else take her place in line—not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And then came orange—the most radiant of them all. The glow of a family, of a home built alongside that same charming man. Ron, to be exact. And then red— fierce, all-consuming new shades of red—the heartbeat of love in its purest form, as she cradled her firstborn and felt the world shift beneath her.

She no longer saw life in black and white. She discovered every shade, every hue. And just when she thought there were no more, new colors kept finding her.

Through it all, Magda was there.

She handed Lulu the brushes, guided her strokes, nudged her back toward her masterpiece whenever she lost her way.

This woman—who had once appeared out of nowhere—had become everything Lulu had lost too soon. She became a mother. A father. A family she could only dream about.

And then one cold February morning, Magda was gone.

Just like that.

The world didn’t stop. The sun still rose. The rain still fell. But for the first time in years, Lulu saw black creeping in at the edges, waiting, ready to take over.

But this time, she refused to let it win.

She did not erase the black, nor did she allow it to swallow the rest of the colors. She lived with it. And in time, it softened, fading into something gentler.

It turned to deep pink—the color of gratitude.

Gratitude for Magdalena, the almost-magical old woman with the sharp tongue and the luminous soul.

The woman who had taught her how to live, to laugh... to see colors.

Lulu never stepped in dog poop again.

She had spent enough time in nature to recognize brown—and to walk around it when needed.

***

Many moons later.



A scruffy-haired girl sat in the park, kicking at an old wooden bench. Her arms flailed in frustration. When the storm inside her subsided, she slumped over, as if the whole world had settled onto her shoulders.

“Hey, kid,” a voice called. “Quit sulking and come help an old lady in need.”

The girl turned her head, eyes wide with confusion, as she took in the old woman standing just a few steps away.

Lulu smiled—subtly, knowingly—and met her gaze without hesitation.

Excitement flickered within her, a quiet thrill she hadn’t felt in years. She couldn't wait to teach her how to paint the picture of her life with all possible colors. She was no longer the artist and was ready to hand over the brush.

Lulu couldn’t wait to teach her how to paint life in color.